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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782446">Push and Pull</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx'>jack_inaboxx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>crack in the glass [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other, possible disturbing descriptions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:40:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782446</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are seven points of failure.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex | Alexis Daher/Mal Riviere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>crack in the glass [28]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774129</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Push and Pull</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/gifts">whatsacleverusername</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wrote this for a friend in a fit of.... well, I'm not sure what it was, but it resulted in this!<br/>So, if you're reading this, friend, uh. It's here too! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Here’s how it works;</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They hate each other. They really, really do. By now the whole world surely knows it, they’ve tried- and nearly succeeded- to kill each other enough times, so many times, only a dead man could miss it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But here is also how it works; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They don’t. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Listen. Pay attention. Read between the lines. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The first time, the first point of failure, it goes like this; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He is bleeding. It seems like it must be everywhere, the floor, the walls, the couch he’s dying on. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He is bleeding because he’s been shot, six times. One through the gut, two the shoulder, the rest the legs; he’ll probably die of blood loss. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>That is not the way he dies. (It isn’t the way he’d want to die, either.) </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s already passed out by the time they actually enter the room he had been hiding in. He doesn’t feel their eyes on his face, or the barrel of the gun that presses to the underside of his jaw. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t hear their voice, his address spoken in their soft, almost melodious tone, or the ambulance sirens not long after.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The second point of failure is this; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He is not quite dead but it’s not far off now. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It had been a clever plot, really, very clever, playing on his damned curiosity, and it would kill him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Of course, that was the intention. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The poison hurts, it burns, like fire in his very bones. He tries to keep still, but he thinks he might be trembling anyway; he can’t really bring himself to care. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He can’t see very well, but he thinks that he sees someone through the blur of his vision, and is he <em>crying</em>? Oh, that’s embarrassing- </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s a pinch in his neck, and a murmur that sounds like it was filtered through a thick blanket to reach him, one that might be ‘too late’. Or ‘you’re safe’. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Third point of failure. This one is where it starts to get strange. Listen; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He is not dying, and he is not bleeding, but he is in a lot of pain and he cannot move, which is almost worse. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s pretty sure that his ribs aren’t supposed to be that shape, but. He’s not exactly a doctor. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This time, he sees the bastard that keeps nearly killing him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They stroll up to him, and the fucker isn’t even wearing a mask. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Then they crouch down next to his head, and he tries to growl but it comes out as more of a wheeze instead. It hurts. A lot hurts. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stay in the hospital this time,” they say, except their mouth doesn’t move. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t have the time to question it before he blacks out. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fourth point of failure, and this one’s a little different; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s afraid. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No, not afraid, he’s goddamn fucking terrified. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Coyote with his paw caught in a trap, he thinks, and almost laughs because it’s not a foot or a hand the thing’s caught. No. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The prongs of the trap sink into his middle, metal cold and beyond unforgiving, and in the silence after the explosions, the ones he’d caused, he lets himself have the luxury of terror. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Because he’s buried under far too much rock and rubble, and there’s no way he’s getting out in time, not now. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t want to <em>die here</em>. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s a scuff, and when he turns his head, that same riot of curls, that same stupid, unmasked, smug look. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The fear melts away to something like relief, and even that is enough to scare him all over again. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fifth; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There is fire. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s screaming, too, but most of that is from people outside the building; all he can see is fire. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He can’t breathe, but that’s okay, because he hadn’t really expected to survive this, even though he tried. And he did. Try, that is. Not that it worked out for him, because he’s still trapped in a burning building. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He can’t breathe. He’s not actually sure that’s okay. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He never expects them to come and save him, somehow. It always surprises him. He still doesn’t know why they do it when they’re the one almost killing him in the first place. Maybe it’s a game. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(He’s become less sure they’re trying to kill him, lately.) </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When they reach him, appearing out of the smoke like a ghost, all he can do is smile, and slump to the ground. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” he breathes, “It’s you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He breathes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Sixth, and almost last, point of failure; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They are angry. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He was not supposed to trust them. They help him because they find him interesting, not because they like him, doesn’t he realize this? </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They hold a gun to his head and stare him in the eye, and for a moment, he thinks they might actually pull the trigger. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t blink. He just smiles, slightly, and hardly moves at all. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Because he does trust them, you see, and that’s the trouble. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He isn’t supposed to trust them. They aren’t supposed to care. Neither of them are doing particularly well at either of those goals. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This is the seventh point of failure; </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He is dying. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There’s very little time left; he’d been shot in the chest, close range, and nobody is coming to help him. He hadn’t heard from them since- </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The bullets are in his lungs. They hurt. Each breath hurts. Each breath sounds like trying to breathe through a wet paper bag. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t mind dying, he thinks, maybe. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He doesn’t want to. But it’s not a bad way to go, all in all. Not really. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As his eyes close, he hears a familiar scuff of footsteps, and he smiles, just a little. And he breathes. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh,” he says softly, “It’s you.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(It was always you.)</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
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